Josh and the Magic Vial (31 page)

“We've got to ask questions Millie, or we'll never find Josh,” Ian retorted.

They pressed on, not wanting to remain still for a moment, hoping to conceal themselves in the crowd. Neither talked. Millie was furious because Ian had so rashly talked to a stranger; Ian was angry too. In this mood they entered the main square of the Habitations, and the scene there made them forget their petty differences. Thousands of Sydeans packed the plaza, which was about the size of two football fields side by side. A procession was heading toward them, making slow progress through the crush. Lines of soldiers struggled to keep the way open for a gigantic carriage, which looked more like a ship than anything Millie had ever seen on land. Flowers, hats, confetti, the citizens showered this strange vessel, and chanted “Hail! Hail! Hail to the heir!” over and over.

Millie swallowed, exchanging a desperate glance with Ian. “Are you thinking what I'm thinking?” she croaked.

“I'm trying not to.”

The carriage drew closer. They could make out one of its occupants, sitting on the side that faced them. The birdman glared imperiously at his subjects, accepting their adoration as his right. Occasionally he deigned to bow his head in a show of dignified graciousness. But that was his only concession to the mob.

As the carriage drew closer yet, they could see beyond Vortigen, and what they saw made their jaws drop. Could the robed and bejeweled dandy sitting next to Vortigen really be Josh? Was this the kid they had come to save, this powdered, pampered aristocrat — this arrogant prince? This peacock?

“Oh my God!” Millie cried. “You pompous ass!”

“Hold on, now, Millie!” Ian pleaded.

“Well look at him!”

“Maybe he's faking.”

She fixed Ian a withering glance.

“Okay! Okay!” he conceded. “But don't make up your mind until you know what's happened.”

“Come on,” she ordered.

Pushing forward, they ducked under the outreached arm of a soldier.

“This doesn't make us obvious?” Ian mused.

“Shut up.” Millie snapped over her shoulder.

Dashing ahead of the lumbering carriage, they crossed the gap to Josh's side . “He won't be able to miss us here,” Millie said grinning. “I want to see him blush.”

“Millie,” Ian warned. “I don't know if this is such a great idea.”

“Do you have a better one?” she snapped.

He thought for a second, then grinned. Apparently not.

“Que sera, sera,” he surrendered. “But get a grip, Millie. Relax!”

The tumult around him swelled inside Josh. A part of him he'd never been aware of fed on the adulation. The crowd's power was his. The thousand voices chanting his name joined into one mighty shout inside his head. What a fool he'd been! The people needed him. They craved his rule. Who in Outworld cared what the boy Josh Dempster thought? How many even knew he'd existed? Josh sniffed, indignant at the notion of being weak and insignificant again. “Why should I go back?”

“What, My Lord?” Athelrod asked.

“Nothing,” Josh answered.

“Don't trouble yourself with what's to come or what has been, My Lord. Live the moment,” the tutor advised. “For this moment, once it's gone, shall never be again, and it is a splendid moment, too splendid to waste. Enjoy, young prince. Enjoy!”

Intent on doing just that, Josh turned to his spectators. Every face beamed. Every citizen chanted his praises . . . except . . .

He stared. There was one face that frowned — a freckled face, surrounded by a wild tangle of frizzy red hair, and set with shocking green eyes. It was a face Josh might have known, but he couldn't for the life of him put a name to it, or remember why he should have known the angry girl who stood at the very front of the crowd.

“Josh!” she yelled. “Josh Dempster!”

The Heir held up his hand, signaling for the procession to stop. Vortigen, seeing this, relayed the message to his captain, who — with much shouting and tugging at the reins, which he snatched from the driver — brought the juggernaut that was their carriage to a halt. Then Josh raised his hands commanding silence. Immediately the tumult subsided, until the only sound in the square was the jingling of harness and the stamp and snort of impatient steeds.

“What do you want?” Josh demanded, looking down on the girl.

“Josh?” she said, puzzled. She looked small and afraid now he'd singled her out. “Don't you know me?”

“Why should I?” he said dismissively. “I can't remember every face I see. Why should I remember yours above all the others?”

The girl reddened, choking with fury.

A boy stepped from the crowd to her side — a strong lad, Josh thought, the kind who would make a good warrior. “Hey Josh!” he said. “It's me, Ian Lytle.”

Again, the strange sensation of knowing, but not knowing. These were ghosts from Outworld, Josh decided. But he could not remember knowing them, at least not clearly, and this vacuum where his former life had been disturbed him. What else had he forgotten since he'd partaken of the delights at the Emerald Palace?

“I don't know either of you,” he said in a haughty tone.

“Don't know me!” the girl exploded. “We grew up together, you snob . . . ”

“Guard!” Athelrod shouted.

“No!” Josh countermanded. “Leave them! They are mistaken. What's the harm in that?”

The girl glared, her unflinching look boring through the layers of illusion Athelrod and Vortigen had patiently constructed until, suddenly, the spell of grandeur burst. In an instant the barrier between Josh and his friends disintegrated, and all the things he'd been trained to forget rushed in. Mille! Ian! Tenth Avenue! His mother and father! All this surged into memory as the illusions of Syde collapsed. Now the glorious robe weighed heavily on his shoulders. He felt himself transformed into a gaudy, pompous fool.

But Josh dared not show this. He wanted to leap down from the carriage and embrace his friends, but a thousand adoring eyes held him fast, like a prisoner. Most of all, he was aware of Vortigen's penetrating stare. The slightest sign of recognition would surely prove fatal to his friends. At all costs the charade must continue — Josh had to remain the precious Prince of Syde.

“Move on!” he ordered, affecting a bored tone. “I'm weary of this urchin's conversation. I am no longer a child, and I don't have time to consort with children.”

As he said this, he held Millie's gaze trying to signal what he really felt. Her eyes blazed. She was in no mood to read the subtle language of looks and gestures, so Josh glanced instead at Ian, imploring him to understand.

“Move!” he shouted angrily to the driver.

As they lurched forward, Vortigen leaned over and whispered a few words to a sergeant in the street. Nodding grimly, the soldier briskly carried out his master's orders. By the time the procession had nudged half a length through the wildly cheering crowd, he had assembled a squad and was leading it around the carriage to arrest the impudent children who had dared interrogate Vortigen's heir.

57

H
ad there been a flicker of recognition in his eyes? It appeared as though Josh wanted to say something more, but before he could get it out, his handlers had pulled him away and the carriage lurched forward.

“Probably another insult,” Millie stewed. Had that really been her once-upon-a-time best friend, Josh?

Before she could even begin answering her own questions a hand grabbed Millie's shoulder from behind. She spun to challenge whoever had accosted her, but outrage turned to confusion when she found herself staring into a pair of dark, penetrating eyes.

“Wha . . . ”

“Run!” the stranger shoved her and Ian forward, then trotted off in front of them. “Hurry!” he urged.

They obeyed without question, Millie guessing they must be on the point of arrest and that this mysterious person was a friend.

The crowd parted before them as if they were infected with the plague. The onlookers chattered and cast disapproving looks. But the threesome did have allies. When a soldier moved to block their way, a young woman tripped him; a cudgel struck from out of the throng making sure the soldier would stay down. Then the woman and her accomplice fell in behind the fleeing children.

Ahead, another squad of supporters formed a wedge, which drove through the packed square.

“What's going on?” Ian shouted. “Vortigen has ordered your arrest,” the young man in the lead shouted over his shoulder. “His guard was forming behind the carriage as you talked with his chosen heir. Lucky for you Vortigen could not use his magical powers with Prince Dandy present, or you would have been paralyzed on the spot. You seem to be among the prince's acquaintances.”

“We knew him once,” Millie grumbled. “But Little Prince Josh wouldn't have minded if Vortigen had hexed us, the traitor.”

“Where are we going?” Ian asked.

“Hold your questions, and save your breath for running,” their companion said. “We're not out of trouble yet.”

As if to confirm his warning, an uproar erupted behind them. Millie glanced over her shoulder to see another squadron of rebels in pitched battle with Vortigen's troops. The best the rebels could do was slow the heavily armed soldiers. Cudgels and stones were no match for armour, shields and swords.

“They'll be slaughtered,” Millie screamed.

“Move! Move!” urged the young woman who had tripped the first soldier. “Move quickly or many more of us will fall into the enemy's hands.”

“But . . . ”

“Run!” the rebel roared, prodding Millie with her staff. “For the sake of The Rebellion and our comrades, run!”

Millie needed no more coaxing than the look of fierce desperation on the young woman's face. She turned and sprinted to catch up to Ian and the rebel leader, who loped along at a punishing pace on his long, powerful legs.

“This way,” he ordered, leading them down a side street, which the other rebels prepared to defend. “Quickly!” he urged. “The rear guard will only give us a few extra seconds. Unless we can elude Vortigen's hounds in that brief time, we shall be captured.”

They spoke no more after that, but ran down narrow alleys and passages. Millie sorrowed for the young woman and her companion. How brave they had been to take their stand without question. Why would the rebels risk so much to protect her and Ian? Why?

At last they entered a deserted lane, their young companion checking up and down to make sure they had not been followed. “Good,” he panted. “I think we've earned ourselves a few minutes. But the neighbourhood will be swarming with troops very soon, and we have to get you to safety.”

“Who are you?” Millie demanded.

“There's no time for introductions,” the youth said curtly.

“But why should we follow you when we don't even know who you are?” she argued.

“My name is Charles, if that means anything to you,” he sighed.

“Charles?” Millie echoed.

“Charles Underwood, Miss, at your service,” he sighed impatiently, extending his hand for her and Ian to shake. “Now,” he said briskly, “can we get back to the business at hand? There's not a moment to spare.”

“Not the Charlie Underwood that Inspector Horace Puddifant tried to help?” Millie said, astounded

“And died for his efforts, yes. I am the same Charlie Underwood.” He glanced in the direction they had come. “But if we stand around chatting much longer, we will get to continue our pleasantries in Vortigen's dungeon. We are wasting precious seconds.”

He gave them directions to a “safe house” and a code word that would get them admitted. “Go straight there. Do not talk to anyone. Most Sydeans are loyal to Vortigen and would turn you in without hesitation. The rebel faction is detested.”

“What's going to happen to us?” Millie groaned. “We came to help Josh, now it looks like we're trapped ourselves.”

“We need to talk to you about bonny Prince Dempster,” Charlie said pointedly. “Then we will help you get out of Syde. I take it you have not been sent here in the usual way.”

“If you mean we're not dead or dying, you're right,” Millie sniped.

Charlie grinned appreciatively. “That's too bad,” he teased. “The Rebellion needs people with spunk. But since we are opposed to everything Vortigen does, and especially his nasty habit of snatching souls, I guess we are obliged to help you get back to wherever you came from. In the meantime, make your way quickly but calmly to the address I have provided. We shall talk more there.”

58

E
ndorathlil shooed Lumpkin away and refocused on Millie and Ian, who lay in a trance on her living room floor. She could only catch glimpses of where they were. Impressions of narrow, winding streets and old brick houses flashed by — and always, a sense of danger. “What have I done?” she whispered desperately.

“You've tried to help them,” a familiar voice materialized out of nowhere, followed by the ghostly form of Inspector Horace Puddifant settling on the arm of the sofa. “And in so doing, you have taken the first steps toward recovering the girl Lillian, whom you lost so long ago.”

I“I've grown accustomed to the name Endorathlil, and I shall keep it,” she grumped. “As for helping these poor children, I don't see how it's much help sending them to perdition. From what I can gather, they are trapped, too, and I may soon be convicted of sending three youngsters to Syde instead of one. Fat lot of good that has done anyone . . . I'll be charged with murder!”

She paused, eyeing him suspiciously. “What are you doing here, anyway,” she wanted to know. “Shouldn't you be with them?”

“My thoughts are with them,” he said. “But I don't think their interests would be well served by me venturing into Syde. The children need us here, guiding them when we can, calling to them always. We must shine like beacons in the night for them, Lillian — I hope you won't mind me using your former name. Together we must rally the gravity Josh, Millie and Ian need to return to this dimension.”